


BFB, BFB

by tobiyos



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Metaverse (Persona 5), Blow Jobs, Bonding over video games, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, M/M, Mishima and Futaba friendship rights, Persona 5 Protagonist & Sakura Futaba Are Siblings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 12:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30139224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobiyos/pseuds/tobiyos
Summary: Yuuki shuffles around again. “So, uh, I guess you guys aren't that close…?”“Nah, we’re besties actually. He’s adopted, so, he’s probably more like a weird friend that lives with me than a brother.”“Oh!” Yuuki says, and crosses his legs under him. “That’s cool. I’ve always wanted a brother.”“It’s not that great,” Futaba says flatly. She glances up, and looks straight at him, and Yuuki wilts back into the mattress a little bit. “He flirts with all of my friends.”--It takes one visit for Mishima to meet Futaba's older brother. Her, uh, really hot older brother.
Relationships: Kurusu Akira/Mishima Yuuki, Mishima Yuuki/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 19
Kudos: 53





	BFB, BFB

**Author's Note:**

> I'm dealing with such an intense fixation on Mishima lately oh my god.

On an impulse, Yuuki joins a nearly barren forum with a handful of people who want to group up and form a guild in one of the MMORPGs he’s been playing.

It’s an older game—well past it’s prime, and the peak of playership—but it’s one of his favorites, and Yuuki spends about a week and a half finding a group capable of being as consistently online as he can that are still able to call themselves casuals.

Everyone is nice—good players, some better than others, but their star is the lead support and navigator, a teenage girl that calls herself Oracle. Yuuki thinks it’s cool that she has a nickname like that—he’s just going by his real name and disregarding every piece of online safety he’s been issued since he was a kid—but Oracle still manages to get his name wrong, even if it says _Mishima_ clear as day above his player.

But they hit it off, weirdly. Oracle is funny, in a single-minded dry kind of way that leaves Yuuki wondering if she actually _is_ joking more often than not. There’re a lot of awkward pauses, a lot of Yuuki being the only one laughing when Oracle makes an obscure reference to a show they other members have never seen. She, in turn, appreciates the “blind devotion” that leads him to follow her orders without question, and Yuuki is just grateful to have someone around his age to talk to.

“You’re a good player,” Oracle tells him once, when they’re doing level grinding a few weeks into the whole arrangement. “I mean, not a great one, but you’re not annoying or anything.”

“Thanks?” Yuuki says, his bullshit mic crackling against his ears.

And then they’re… friends, he guesses. Or, close enough.

Apparently, Oracle lives in Tokyo too— _Futaba_ , she tells him over a late-night session one weekend, and it catches Yuuki so off guard he nearly knocks his mouse off of his desk in response—and she says it’s cool that he makes his own computers. Futaba thinks she makes cooler ones, so she invites him over to rub it in his face, and, well, Yuuki really isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. And as far as he’s concerned, it’s a _girl_ inviting him over to her _house_. Yuuki is nothing if not much, much too excited.

So, around noon on a Saturday, he packs up a couple of the devices he has, takes a shower, puts on some clothes that maybe won’t make him look like a horrible goober, and sets off on a train ride across the city.

Futaba lives in a house on a backstreet in Shibuya, that looks… much nicer than Yuuki thought it would. He has a moment, standing outside of her unlocked gate, where he’s suddenly horribly conscious of the fact that he and Futaba have only spoken behind a screen. That, and she’s kind of the only person he talks to on a semi-regular basis. He really should get more human interaction but—it’s fine! He’ll be perfectly fine. He’s going to hang out with his friend, and maybe they’ll play a game, and they’ll _both_ be so awkward he won’t even have to worry about making a fool out of himself.

He rings Futaba’s doorbell with a renewed sense of vigor.

…that plumets the second the door swings open.

 _Oh, yeah_ , Futaba had said, the night before. _The only other person at home is usually my older brother._

Yuuki gapes, and stares, and watches the tall, handsome, tanned teenager in the door yawn and scratch at his stomach—his very, very, bare stomach—and blink long, beautiful eyelashes down at Yuuki, stood like a statue in the doorway.

Futaba’s brother is textbook handsome, from the tips of dark, wild hair, down to slate grey eyes, over broad shoulders, down a tapered waist, over strong legs barely restricted by the sweatpants that are sitting so low on his hips Yuuki is barely holding on to his sanity. He can see his _hipbones._

“Who are you?” he says blandly, and Yuuki snaps back to himself like he’s been hit, because holy _shit_ is this dude’s voice deep. It’s got kind of a rumble, without the scratch that Yuuki would expect from that kind of bass.

“Mishi—M-Mishi—M- _uh_.”

Futaba’s brother cracks a smile that’s all toothy, and knowing, and Yuuki’s stomach drops like he’s falling. All thoughts of seeing Futaba in _any_ sexual sense have flown the coop, because her brother rolls his head on his shoulders, and Yuuki’s goddamn dick twitches in his pants. What the hell.

“Mishi-Mishi-M-uh. Unique name.”

“Mishima!” Yuuki squeaks. “It’s, uh, it’s Mishima. I’m a f-friend of Orac—Futaba’s?”

“Ohh,” Futaba’s brother drawls, and Yuuki shivers up from his toes. “That makes sense. You can call me Akira, then.” He steps back from the door and Yuuki takes that as his cue to come inside, stepping into the darkened hallway with a grip to the tote bag on his shoulder.

This close, Yuuki can also tell that the height difference between them is… more than significant, seeing as Akira shuts the door and turns and shoves his hands into his pockets, and then Yuuki is looking up— _up_ —at his face.

“I’m not gonna have to give you a shovel talk, am I?” Akira rumbles, in that gorgeous voice of his.

“No!” Yuuki says, too fast, flushing, because Akira is so pretty, and he and Futaba are _not_ dating, and he needs to let him know that quickly, so he blurts, instinctively “I’m gay!”

Akira blinks, and Yuuki has a split second to be mortified because he is very much _not_ gay, but he is also realizing quickly that he probably isn’t very straight, either. “Cool,” he says, and Yuuki’s eyes dart down to the waistline of his pants, because Yuuki knows now that when Akira shoves his hands in his pockets, it pushes his sweatpants further down his hips, and now Yuuki can see the curve of the V leading down to his pelvis and— _do not get hard, Mishima Yuuki_. “Brothers in arms, or whatever,” Akira says with a grin.

“Huh?” Yuuki says, at the same time Akira lifts his hand for a fist bump.

“Brothers in arms,” Akira repeats. “Gay bros.”

“Gay bros!” Yuuki parrots shrilly and knocks his knuckles into Akira’s awkwardly. Akira snickers, and the sound is like the heavens opening up, because it’s scratchy and stilted, and fucking dorky as hell. It is also singlehandedly one of the most attractive things Yuuki has ever heard.

“Though, what I said still stands. If you fuck with my sister, I’ll kill you.”

That should not make Yuuki’s heart beat so hard it feels like it’s clogging up his throat. He’ll… examine that a little later. “G-got it.”

“Nishima?”

Yuuki yelps, and whips around on his heel. There’s a shock of red hair in the hallway behind him, and big, owlish eyes behind coke bottle glasses. “Futaba!”

“What are you two talking about,” she says flatly.

“Guy stuff,” Akira says with a laugh, and a ruffle of Yuuki’s hair. His hands are—fuck—big, like massive, and Yuuki has to keep himself from leaning into the touch like a starved stray cat. “I’ll be in my room. You crazy kids call me if you need anything.”

Yuuki glances up from under the brotherly hair ruffle to finds Akira staring straight back, a more than attractive smirk curled up on his face. Yuuki blinks as he fiddles with the edges of his hair and says a little prayer that Akira doesn’t notice the way Yuuki’s eyes keep jumping down to his full, pink lips. Akira laughs again. It’s cute. That’s a cute thing that Akira does on _top_ of being insanely hot. This house is going to be Yuuki’s tomb.

Akira is off down the hallway with a wave, and then Yuuki has to turn and face Futaba, who… well. Yuuki thought she’d look like Akira, but they’re more like polar opposites, considering Futaba has bright hair, big eyes, and a slight, feminine frame. She blinks, and looks him up and down, unimpressed, before she says, “You coming?” and turns back through her door.

“Y-yeah!” Yuuki yelps, and trails her into her room.

It’s typical gamer girl décor, though Yuuki assumed there would be a lot more pink than there is. Futaba’s aesthetics are firmly inlaid with green, accented with enough figurines that he could probably finance a small apartment if they were sold to the right audience. There’re energy drinks and food packages littering the floor around her desk, but the space is largely clean, and Yuuki knows he’s not really in any place to judge.

“So,” Yuuki says awkwardly, when Futaba retreats to her desk chair without offering him a seat. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” Futaba says blandly. “Futaba Sakura. This is my house.” She jerks her head behind her. “That’s my set up. Did you bring the stuff?”

“I did,” Yuuki laughs, going into his bag for some discarded pieces of circuitry that had been too difficult for him to install on his last rig. “You could make it sound less shady, though.”

Futaba snickers under her breath as Yuuki hands the parts over, a slightly malicious, _Mwehehe_ noise.

Yuuki shuffles on his feet, suddenly at a loss for conversation now that Futaba has seemingly gotten what she needed. He spins his internal wheel of conversation topics, and lands, somehow on, “Uh, your brother seems… cool.” Which is… bullshit, because what he means is, _your brother seems really sexy and also I didn’t realize I even liked boys until about four minutes ago but he seems exactly like the kind of guy to have gay awakenings over_.

“He’s a dork,” Futaba says lightly, and turns in her chair. “A cool dork, until you see him make kissy faces at our cat and burn literally anything that isn’t a plate of curry.”

Yuuki makes an executive decision and sits on the edge of her bed. “I take it you guys aren’t that similar?”

“Not really,” Futaba chirps, playing with the piece of circuitry Yuuki has handed her. “Oh, actually, this might fit into a new system I was working on. You mind?”

Yuuki shakes his head. “Knock yourself out.”

Futaba slides out of her bed and pushes her chair out of the way with an open palm, before she pulls out some bulky pieces of circuitry that look _much_ more advanced than the simple systems Yuuki puts together. He likes to think of putting a computer together as simply a big, 3D puzzle, but Futaba makes it seem more like something out of a movie, with the screwdriver between her teeth, and the quick, nimble motions of her hands.

Yuuki shuffles around again. “So, uh, I guess you guys aren’t that close…?”

God, he really needs to think of another topic than Futaba’s brother. She doesn’t seem to mind though, tinkering happily. “Nah, we’re besties actually. He’s adopted, so, he’s probably more like a weird friend that lives with me than an actual sibling.”

“Oh!” Yuuki says, and crosses his legs under him. “That’s cool. I’ve always wanted a brother.”

“It’s not that great,” Futaba says flatly. She glances up, and looks straight at him, and Yuuki wilts back into the mattress a little bit. “He flirts with all of my friends.”

\--

Yuuki spends, in the end, what he thinks is a few hours at Futaba’s house. Eventually the silence stops being _unbearable_ and just becomes something that happens when they’re both too awkward to carry conversation on their own, though that falls away when Futaba pulls him over to the desk and boots up their game, and hands Yuuki a spare controller.

No one else is online, so that kind of limits their option, but there are still lower level dungeons to crawl, and Futaba does seem like she’s having much more fun now that she can _openly_ chastise all of Yuuki’s methods of play. It’s fun though, somehow. Maybe just because of the extra body in the room.

They play until their hands hurt, and Yuuki doesn’t even realize what time it is until he checks his watch, and glances between Futaba’s curtains at the fading afternoon light.

“Oh, shit,” he says under his breath. His thighs tingle as he shifts, his bones cracking strangely. “We’ve been at that for, uh, a while.”

“You gettin’ tired, Nishi?”

“Gotta pee, more like,” Yuuki grunts, stretching his spine long on Futaba’s bed. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Down the hall, on the right.” Futaba says. She doesn’t even look up from the game, so Yuuki assumes his character is in good hands for now and swings out of the room to head down the hallway.

There’s an open door with a view of the edge of a mirror a few steps away that can’t be anything other than a bathroom. But across the hall and slightly more blocked off, is another room, sunlight spilling out from past the door like the windows inside are open wide.

Yuuki doesn’t really _mean_ to snoop, but the closer he gets, the easier it is to hear… noises. Low grunts, shallow, labored breathing. It’s Akira, that much is clear, but there’s no way he’s… he couldn’t…

No! Yuuki can’t go snooping in on Futaba’s brother like that, that’s… that’s _wrong_! Even if he is hot, Yuuki must respect his boundaries. He has to—

“Mmff, _fuck_.”

Oh, he has to see. Right now, actually.

He slinks his way up to the door and gives a gentle push that has the door swinging with a barely audible creak, and… oh, holy shit.

Akira is not, thankfully, jerking off. What he _is_ doing is somehow worse for Yuuki’s heart. Akira is still shirtless, because of course he is, but he’s got his arms above his hand, fingers wrapped around a beam slicing across the ceiling, his back muscles bulging and flexing beautifully as he does what Yuuki has to assume is the world’s most flawless pull up.

He has no idea how long Akira has been going at this, but his back is shiny with sweat, and the curls on the back of his neck are plastered to his skin. He’s glowing in the sunlight like a fucking Greek god, and Yuuki suddenly has the most instantaneous boner he’s ever suffered from in his life.

Akira grunts again as he lowers himself slowly to the ground, but he never touches down, huffing out a slow, deliberate breath before he pulls himself up again, and Yuuki has _no_ idea how long he spends watching Akira do pull ups, but he does have to reach down and adjust his dick in his pants, and then it’s a fucking miracle to _keep_ his hands away from said dick, because between the visual and the quick, unsatisfying pang of pleasure that shoots through him when he touches himself, he feels like he’s playing a losing game. Akira huffs out another swear, and Yuuki almost folds.

He’s saved—in a sense—only when something small and _furry_ brushes past his leg, dragging over his jeans and twirling between his ankles.

Yuuki yelps and stumbles away from the door, only to glance down and see a little black cat, stretching languidly and peering up at Yuuki with bright blue, intelligent eyes. “Scared the crap out of me,” he hisses, glancing up when the door creaks open fully and the sunlight spills out onto the floor around a looming shadow. And oh, oh wow.

Akira from the front is so much more torturous than Akira from the back.

“Mishima?” Akira pants, _pants_ , breathless and sweaty and godlike, and Yuuki nearly creams his fucking pants.

“H-hey,” he says shakily, and glances behind him at the bathroom. “I was, uh, heading to the… bathroom? Right, the bathroom. Almost tripped over your cat.”

Akira raises an eyebrow and glances down at the little creature on the ground, who meows up at him. “Yeah, Mona will kinda get under your feet.” He bends over to pick the cat up—don’t look at his ass, don’t look at his ass, don’t look at his ass—and scoops the wriggling little mass into sweat slick arms. Yuuki, horribly, has never wanted to be a small animal more. He glances up, and Akira’s giving him that gorgeous, knowing smirk again. “Sure he’s the only thing that stopped you in your tracks?”

Yuuki’s face sparks with heat. “Uh, um—”

“Nishima!” Futaba shouts, and pokes her head past the door again. “Jeez, you didn’t fall in, did you?” she frowns at Akira, and Mona yowls as he tries to climb out of his arms. “What the hell.”

“Um!” Yuuki yelps.

“We’re talking about dinner,” Akira lies smoothly, and Yuuki latches onto the excuse with what may be a too enthusiastic nod. “You said you’d stay, right?” Akira asks, and turns back in Yuuki’s direction. His eyes are twinkling, all mischief, and Yuuki swallows around a dry throat as he tries to get a handle on his heart.

“Um, yeah! If that’s alright? I don’t wanna overextend my stay or anything.”

“Don’t be silly,” Akira purrs. He sets Mona on the ground again, and this time Yuuki _does_ shamelessly check out his ass. He can’t help it—it’s a really good ass. “You’re a guest. We’ve got to take care of you.”

“Right,” Yuuki shivers, trying not to bite his lips. He feels like he’s going to die. “Right.”

\--

Akira throws a shirt on and Yuuki and Futaba trail him into the kitchen so he can make dinner— _make_ dinner, like _cook_ it, and Yuuki spends the entire time he’s chatting with Futaba at their kitchen table daydreaming about coming home to Akira cooking him food literally every day—and if it _tastes_ as good as Akira _looks_ , Yuuki is fully willing to struggle through conversation with Futaba _without_ the crutch of video games.

But, Futaba is kind of cute, in her own way. Once Yuuki can get her going about something he likes, he knows it would be harder to get her to stop, but he doesn’t really mind, and she does eventually get up and reenact the entirety of the last season of Phoenix Featherman R for him.

“Seems like you two are having fun,” Akira says, and sets down three plates of curry on the table. It’s a family recipe, apparently, which makes Yuuki feel all warm and fuzzy. Yuuki takes his gratefully, and then startles when Akira sits across from him at the small table.

Futaba shrugs as she climbs back into her chair to fold her knees up underneath her chin. “Yeah, well, Nishima isn’t the _worst_ member of our guild, so it wasn’t a waste of the day.”

“Am I not… the best?” Yuuki asks.

 _“I’m_ the best,” Futaba says firmly, and points a spoon in Yuuki’s direction. “You’re… probably somewhere around third.”

“Third!” Yuuki yelps. “Who’s second?”

Futaba frowns. “Maya. Duh. Even if she _is_ like, forty or whatever.”

Yuuki clicks his tongue.

“I’m sure you’re great,” Akira says, with a delicate little bite of his curry. Yuuki tries not to watch the way his tongue sweeps over the silverwear to wipe it clean, but it’s a struggle, truth be told. “Though, you _are_ much cuter than some of the people Futaba plays with.”

“Quit that,” Futaba hisses, and the table jerks as she shoots a leg out and kicks Akira in the shin. “I hate when you flirt with my friends.”

“ _Flirt?_ ” Akira gasps, affronted. Yuuki snickers as he leans forward with a theatric hand pressed to his heart. Yuuki’s snickering stops, abruptly, though, when Akira turns to him. “ _Mishima_ ,” he purrs, and his voice crawls down Yuuki’s spine like fingers. “am I _flirting_ with you?”

“Uh,” Yuuki says quietly, around the sound of Futaba gagging audibly. “I’m not… sure?”

For a moment, the playfulness on Akira’s face slips away as he frowns, before he seems to bounce right back with a shrug. “Well, _see_ , Futaba? What kind of flirting could it be if Mishima doesn’t even _know_ it’s happening?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Futaba grumbles into her curry.

Akira smiles, and Yuuki is almost too busy staring to taste the food that touches his tongue. Almost. “Oh! This is really good!”

“Yeah?” Akira says, and glances his way. Yuuki lets out an unattractive yelp when Akira winks. “Family secret.”

“I like it,” Yuuki says, face flushing as he glances down at his food. It really _is_ good, and Yuuki doesn’t get a ton of home cooked meals when his parents are out as often as they are. It makes him feel… cared for. Light.

He’s so caught up in eating he disregards the gentle pressure that nudges at his foot. It’s probably Mona again, truth be told, so he keeps eating his curry comfortably, and listening to Futaba ramble about the anime she started the week prior.

The second time it happens, though, Yuuki is a little more wary. He means to glance down, check under the table if it _is_ the cat, or if the Sakuras are hiding another pet somewhere in the house, but the second he glances up, all he sees is Akira, leaned onto his arm and smiling in Yuuki’s direction. And then something nudges his foot again, and slides up his ankle, and _oh_ , Yuuki realizes. That, uh, _is_ Akira.

“Something wrong?” Akira asks lowly. Yuuki blushes, and shakes his head, and feels Akira’s foot wrap around his calf. “Hm,” Akira says, on a smile. “That’s good.”

Yuuki thinks he’s… messing with him. A game! This must be a funny game to Akira, even if it’s making something horribly similar to arousal curl in Yuuki’s gut even at that simple a touch. It’s hard to find anything Akira does _not_ attractive, when he makes Yuuki feel the way he does, but this is… just a good thing between friends. Even if Akira’s foot slips from around his calf and brushes his knee, even if he—

“Ah!”

Futaba shoots him a look from behind her glasses that has Yuuki slapping his hands over his mouth, face flaming. “What’s wrong with you?” she asks.

Yuuki shakes his head, and then shivers, slightly, when Akira nudges his foot up against his crotch again. Oh, no, no, no, no. Like _yes_ , but noooo!

“Something wrong, Mishima?” Akira asks, and tips his head to the side. He’s a little pink in the cheeks too, though Yuuki suspects that may have something to do with the fact that he’s rolling the ball off his foot across Yuuki’s already achingly stiff cock and—

 _Shit_. Maybe Akira _is_ flirting with him.

“I’m fine!” Yuuki announces, too loud and too breathless. Futaba raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on it, and Akira, gracefully, stops moving his foot, just stopping to rest his heel up against Yuuki’s thigh again. Yuuki really can’t help it, rolling his hips shallowly up against Akira, just to feel the way he flexes, see how his mouth parts gently across the table.

Futaba has started back up on her rundown of which Featherman Characters are _definitely_ dating, and Yuuki is completely tuning the sound out for the heat of Akira’s eyes as he watches him across the table, even if he’s not moving.

Nobody’s ever touched Yuuki the way Akira is—Yuuki doesn’t know if he’s ever wanted anyone to, either—but now he has no idea how he’s going to live without it.

He completely forgets his food to devote most of his brain power to not coming in his pants as Akira nudges at his thighs, his dick, his stomach, softly. Yuuki knows he probably looks a mess, especially when he drops his chin into his arms on the table and nods aimlessly along to whatever Futaba is saying.

“Think I’m gonna get started on cleaning,” Akira announces, and stands like Yuuki wasn’t just humping his fucking foot. “Mishima,” he purrs, and Yuuki jerks to attention, even as Futaba snickers at him. “Do you wanna help?”

Like Yuuki would say _no_. “O-oh, yeah, I can help!” he stutters out, and clambers from the chair, before belatedly hoping Futaba can’t see the strain against the front of his pants. This isn’t quite how he thought his visit would go, but he’s certainly not complaining.

He helps Akira gather up the plates and joins him at the sink, and then realizes they’re standing shoulder to shoulder as Akira hands him a towel and informs him he’s on drying duty.

“Futaba usually helps me with the dishes,” Akira explains quietly, leaning down to get his mouth near Yuuki’s ear. His breath is warm, and Yuuki feels his lips brush Yuuki’s ear, like it’s an accident. It very well could be, but that doesn’t stop Yuuki’s whole body lighting up like a fireworks show. “It’s nice having a pretty boy here to help, too. Especially one so sweet.”

“Oh, well,” Yuuki laughs, reddening. He takes the plate Akira hands to him and feels their fingers brush gently, soapy and wet. “I’m, uh, always happy to be of use?”

Akira snorts, and picks up another plate. “Cute,” he says, and Yuuki presses his lips together to keep himself from giggling nervously. It doesn’t stop Akira from leaning closer though, enough for Yuuki to see how his eyes are darker at the edges than they are in the middle. Yuuki could drown in them. _Fuck,_ does he want to. “Has anybody ever told you how cute you are, Mishima?”

“Um, n-no?”

A thumb touches Yuuki’s chin, and he jolts like he’s been shocked, leaning into Akira’s towering figure like he’s drawn in. “Shame,” Akira says softly, and Yuuki whimpers quietly when their lips almost touch.

“Akira, Nishima!” Futaba announces from the table. Yuuki jerks away with a guilty pivot on his heel, and presses his hands to the back of the sink. “I’m gonna head to my room. Nishima, if you’re not leaving, we can play another round.”

“I should probably head home soon,” Yuuki says, and reaches up to rub the back of his neck. His hands are shaking. Just from _one_ near kiss? “I don’t wanna overextend my stay. Or, um, h-have to get on the trains when they’re too crowded.”

Futaba nods gravely, like she understands all too well, and hops out of her chair. “Well, just let me know!” she announces, and bounds out of the room.

Yuuki sighs, and then yelps, because there are cool, slightly wet fingers on his face again, turning him to face Akira at his side. “A-Akira—?”

“It’s Mishima, right?” Akira asks, tilting Yuuki’s face up.

All Yuuki can do is nod, suddenly faced with their height difference again, and already horribly turned on. “Why do you let Futaba call you that? Nishima.”

“Oh,” Yuuki breathes. “Um, I guess it’s just… a her thing? She messed it up over a call once and I just… didn’t feel the need to correct her.”

“Hm,” Akira hums, and Yuuki sucks in a sharp breath when he feels Akira press a thumb to his bottom lip. “Mishima, Nishima. It’s a little confusing, isn’t it?”

“Ah, I guess?” Yuuki says. Akira’s eyes are _so_ grey, and his face is close enough that Yuuki could, if he just, leaned up a little…

“How about… I call you something else?”

“Something else?” Yuuki whimpers.

Akira nods. “What’s your first name?”

Oh. “Y-Yuuki.”

Akira strokes his bottom lip. “Yuuki.” He says. His voice is like honey, and his lips are so close Yuuki’s are trembling. “I like that. _Yuuki._ ”

He’s not sure which one of them leans in, but Yuuki does know that one second he’s closing his eyes, and the next Akira’s mouth is on his, gentle and warm and shiver inducing. He kisses softly, slowly, like he knows Yuuki isn’t familiar with this at _all_ , but it’s still better than anything Yuuki has ever, ever felt.

And then Akira’s fingers slide around his chin, and under his ear, and Yuuki stumbles forward to meet a soft, broad chest, and he fucking melts, whimpering as Akira makes the smallest, sexiest noise Yuuki has heard in his _life_. There’s a hand on the small of his back, and a tongue in his mouth, and Akira kisses _dirty_ , sucks on his tongue, fills the too quiet kitchen with the slick sounds of their lips pressing and parting.

“A—kira,” Yuuki hiccups, as he’s tugged closer, nearly off his feet. “ _Mph!_ I—”

“You’re so cute,” Akira pants into his mouth, and Yuuki shivers as his hand works up the back of his shirt, Akira’s mouth pressing to his cheek. “Look at you, you’re shaking like a leaf.”

“I’ve never,” Yuuki gasps, as Akira’s fingers walk up his spine. “Nobody’s ever t-touched me, _hnn,_ k-kissed, me.”

“Is this okay?” Akira asks, and he pauses, leans back, gives Yuuki enough room to breathe. It’s courteous, Yuuki knows, but he can’t help sliding his hands down Akira’s chest, fisting his fingers in his shirt and trying to pull him closer again. “ _Yuuki._ ”

“It’s okay,” Yuuki urges, and wraps his arms around Akira’s neck to pull him closer. “It’s okay, please, please kiss me again.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Akira coos, and Yuuki doesn’t even have time to dwell on the pet name before Akira’s mouth is pressing against him again, and this time he turns, pushes Yuuki up against the sink and licks into his mouth, presses his shirt up high, high, high.

Yuuki whines when Akira slides his knee between his leg, and then he gasps and jerks away from the kiss, because he wasn’t quite expecting _that_ to come out of him. “I’m sorry,” he pants, and buries his face in Akira’s neck.

“It’s okay,” Akira says, and Yuuki chokes back another moan when he grinds his thigh between his legs. “It feels good, right? Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

Yuuki shakes and mewls, and absolutely can’t help himself from grinding his hips in another tight circle against Akira’s legs. “ _Please_ ,” he chokes out.

“Shh,” Akira says, and grabs Yuuki by the hip, pulls him up and shifts his weight so that Yuuki is only supported by the way he’s pressed back into the counter, and he shakes when Akira throws his hand up against the cabinets overhead. “Put your hands on me, right here,” he urges, and Yuuki pushes shaky hands down his arms, grips Akira’s chest and a firm bicep. “Fuck, thought about this since you walked through the door.”

“ _Akira_ ,” Yuuki whines again. Akira is having none of it, guiding Yuuki’s hips up his thighs in firm, mind numbing rolls, and Yuuki does his best to follow the movement, hiked up on his toes and jerking shakily as he grinds across Akira’s thigh. It feels so good Yuuki thinks he might be on fire, and he’s gripping the life out of Akira’s arms, biting down on a lip to keep his voice down.

“You’re such a sweet boy,” Akira coos, and Yuuki hiccups when Akira kisses his cheek. “Beautiful, so good. Like that, Yuuki, just move your hips.”

Yuuki feels his cock twitch, his eyes rolling back into his head as his breath catches on a moan. “I’m gonna come,” he whines, and chases the friction of Akira’s thighs faster. “Coming, Akira, _Akira_ —”

“I’ve got you,” Akira murmurs, and presses his lips to Yuuki’s, messy, and nowhere near a kiss. “Wanna see you come, Yuuki.”

It’s another grind of Yuuki’s hips before he’s coming, arching up as he slides his mouth across Akira’s at his best attempt as a kiss. He’s scrambling at Akira’s arms for dear life as he spills messily into his underwear, choking out half formed words and desperate high groans.

“God, you’re—” Akira cuts himself off by slotting their mouths together and pulling Yuuki clean off of the ground to sit high on his thigh. Yuuki feels hazy, his legs twitching as he shifts on Akira’s hip, trying to find some kind of purchase as his breath gets pulled away between kisses.

“Fuckin perfect,” Akira says, eventually, and lets Yuuki pull away to catch his breath from the kiss. There’s a thin line of crystal spit, holding them together, and it makes Yuuki squirm, even as his tongue hangs out of his mouth. “Thank you, baby, _thank you_.”

“Y-you too,” Yuuki gasps, pulling at the edge of Akira’s shirt. “Let me do you too.”

Akira presses his eyebrows together, but he still manages to look incredibly fond, stroking up and down Yuuki’s hip. “You don’t have to, you know.”

Yuuki tugs on his shirt again and bites his lip. “I want to.”

Akira stares at him openly, like he’s barely able to believe what he’s seeing, and then Yuuki squeaks as Akira sweeps him up into a tight hug, and presses his face into his neck. “You are so fucking _cute_ , how are you so f-fucking _cute_?”

“Akira?” Yuuki yelps.

“Yeah, yes,” Akira says into his neck. “You can… you can do me too.”

Yuuki nods, and presses shaky fingers to the back of Akira’s neck. “I’ve never… um… given someone a blowjob. But I want to? Can I?”

“Yeah,” Akira urges, pressing a hand into Yuuki’s back, and sliding him down his thigh. “Fuck, anything. You can do anything you want to me.”

“Okay,” Yuuki says, cracking a smile as he unwinds from Akira’s whole body, and then he’s putting hands on Akira’s chest, and sliding down to his knees, realizing only when he’s hit the floor that Akira has him pinned between his hips and the sink and… that really shouldn’t turn him on as much as it should.

Akira pushes fingers into his hair gently, and Yuuki glances up with parted lips to take in the way Akira is flushed and clearly excited, biting down on his lip like he’s scared he’ll start running his mouth.

Mishima slides his hands up Akira’s legs. “You have to tell me if it doesn’t feel good, okay?”

“I will,” Akira breathes, and cards fingers soothingly through Yuuki’s hair. “Just… go slow. And watch your teeth, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” Yuuki breathes. He hooks his fingers in Akira’s sweatpants and then drags them down over his hip bones, over his thighs, and when Akira’s cock bobs free, flushed and dark, his mouth waters like he’s _starving_.

“Fuck,” Yuuki whispers, so quietly he can hardly even hear himself. Akira’s cock is a spectacle, but more than that are his hips and his thighs, sharp bones leading down onto plush muscle. Yuuki shifts up further on his knees and presses his lips to Akira’s hip, once, twice, and then sinks his teeth in gently, his eyes flicking up when Akira groans quietly.

“For s-someone who says he doesn’t know how to give a blowjob,” Akira gasps, as Yuuki laves his tongue messily over the same spot. Akira’s fingers pull at his hair. “You sure do know how to be a _tease_.”

“I like that,” Yuuki slurs, with his lips still pressed to Akira’s hipbone. “I like when you pull my hair.”

“Yeah?” Akira breathes, and gives another tug to Yuuki’s mess of curls. “I’ll pull harder when you put my dick in your mouth.”

Well, Yuuki doesn’t have to be told twice.

He licks the base of Akira’s cock up to the glistening head, and tastes sweat and skin, and some kind of tang that really shouldn’t make his stomach fill with heat. But Yuuki groans as it sits on his tongue, and then again when he slides the head of Akira’s cock past his lips. Akira pulls his hair again and Yuuki moans around his cock, feeling his eyes water as his mouth stretches.

“Fuck!” Akira groans, and tips his head back towards the ceiling. “Fuck, _fuck_ , that feels good, Yuuki.” Yuuki swirls his tongue around the head of his cock and feels Akira’s stomach jump under his fingers, a barely there twitch of Akira’s cock across his tongue. It makes him feel heady, powerful, and more than wanted when Akira winds his fingers into Yuuki’s hair and tugs so hard Yuuki’s scalp tingles.

He slides further down, swallows Akira whole cock slowly, and then flicks his eyes up to Akira’s face and meets his eye, feeling his cock sit heavy and warm on his tongue.

“Oh, _baby_ ,” Akira purrs, and slides a thumb under Yuuki’s eye. “You don’t have a gag reflex?” Yuuki makes a questioning noise that sends Akira curling in on himself with a choked out swear. “ _God_ , of course you don’t you’re— _hnng,_ you’re perfect, _perfect_ , Yuuki.”

Yuuki preens at the praise, and carefully slides Akira back out of his mouth, until he can rest the head of Akira’s cock on his tongue again, pressed flat against his bottom lip. “ _Yuuki_ ,” Akira whispers, and gives his hair a solid tug. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Yuuki stays true to his word, and goes slow, nestling Akira’s cock in his throat and then holding him there, sliding back and forth sloppily as his spit gathers on Akira’s skin. He sucks dick like his life depends on it, because he can’t get enough of the way Akira gasps out his name, the way his hips twitch like he can’t control it. Akira fists a hand in his shirt and pulls, and Yuuki hollows his cheeks, and slides his tongue up the underside of Akira’s cock with a choked gurgle.

Akira’s hips give another twitch, and Yuuki groans with Akira’s cock down his throat, and suddenly the pressure on his scalp is pushing him _away_ , and Akira is gasping out a hurried, “Stick out your tongue for me, baby, now, _now_.”

Yuuki does as he’s told, lets his tongue loll past his lips as Akira’s suddenly free hand fists over his cock, and then Akira is groaning, his mouth falling open as Yuuki feels come spurt and spill onto his tongue, over his lip as Akira shakes through his orgasm. He’s beautiful, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and holding it out in a tight grip as he rides out his orgasm. Yuuki commits the image to memory as best as he can, even as the come on his tongue cools and gets uncomfortable as Akira catches his breath.

“Hold on,” Akira says breathlessly, and Yuuki yelps as he drops to his knees, and hauls him in by the back of the neck to suck the come off of his tongue desperately, and Yuuki braces his hands against the floor as their tongues intertwine, as Akira’s come gets fed back to him messily.

When Akira pulls away, Yuuki gasps and pants, staring straight at the ground instead of at Akira. He feels like he’s spinning in a circle, though that might be because Akira kisses him so hard Yuuki forgets how to breathe.

“Hi,” Akira says, when Yuuki drops his head down onto his shoulder.

“Hi,” Yuuki giggles.

Akira laughs back quietly, and Yuuki feels his fingers draw up his spine, which do _very_ little to calm his already raging heartbeat. “You okay?”

Yuuki has come cooling messily in his underwear and an embarrassing amount of sweat on the back of his neck, but _okay_ is selling the excited tingling feeling in his chest short. He hums, and nods.

Akira laughs, and drops a few good natured pats to Yuuki’s back. “I think you sucked my soul out of my dick.”

Yuuki can’t catch his own snicker, especially when he leans back enough to see Akira’s face and the blooming smile on his lips. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a good thing,” Akira says, and presses forward to kiss him again. It’s slower, this time, less weighted, less consuming. This kiss feels like… promise, though that may just be Yuuki reading into it. He has to hope, a little bit, that maybe the way Akira presses a hand to his cheek and holds him close may be more than the base flirting it seems like Akira is prone towards.

“I should… um… probably go—Futaba?” Yuuki says, brains properly scrambled. Akira slides his thumb up to his ear, and brushes a bit of Yuuki’s hair back, his eyes still trained on Yuuki’s mouth.

“Gimmie your number, first?” It’s a soft thing, questioning, and it makes Yuuki’s heart pound, because this is certainly much less sure than Akira has been all day, and it’s insufferably adorable, and pulling on Yuuki’s poor heart.

He shuffles on his knees, fits his arms around Akira’s shoulders, and says, “Give me yours instead.”

\--

 _Nishima_. Futaba texts him. _Nishi. Nishi. Nishima_.

Yuuki swipes his phone off of his desk table and sends back a quick, _What’s up?_

 _I’ve got a setup I want your help with. Also, I’ve had a boring week and you’re my only irl friend that isn’t my brother_.

 _Are you inviting me over_?

_Yes._

_Also, ugh, Akira said he wants to cook you dinner again_.

Yuuki rolls his eyes, switches text conversations.

_You could have just asked me to come over yourself._

_Well, I don’t want you to know I like you, or anything._

Ridiculous. Akira is ridiculous, and hot, and Yuuki wants to see how long he can be in his house before Akira sweeps him off his feet and kisses him so hard he forgets his own name.

 _Yeah,_ he texts back. _That would be awful_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you know where the title is from I'll pray for you.
> 
> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tobi_yos) if you wanna say hi or something! Later <3


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